


The Bad Son

by argylemikewheeler



Series: Tumblr Re-posts [47]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anxiety, Billy is there in the background to instigate not a huge focus, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 03:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18402635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argylemikewheeler/pseuds/argylemikewheeler
Summary: A look into Steve trying to pick up the pieces of his life after helping close the gate. He's suffering in silence; he refuses to even scream.





	The Bad Son

Steve wasn’t a bad son. He and his parents worked around each other, participating in a symbiotic performance of the Perfect Family. Steve got what he needed to succeed as much as he could in school and for his mom and dad to experience the joys of parenthood. They were caring and loving, but not active. Steve slipped through their fingers the winter of 1984 and they didn’t so much as watch.

Sleeping was like waiting for a rising tide. Lying in bed, Steve could feel the licks of unknown darkness across his ankles, soon swelling and washing over his legs. It’d cross his hips and he’d roll over, hoping the bright light of his back porch would pour through his sheer curtains and ground him. But staring at his pool lights only amplified the hushed screams folded into every lap of water. The water and Barb’s screams would climb farther, crashing over Steve’s chest. The water chased after his rapid breath, filling his lungs. He’d be paralyzed, the water still flowing faster faster and filling Steve up until it could only escape down his cheeks.

He woke up most nights screaming. His sheets tangled around his ankles, haunting vines unable to leave him alone, and his fear retreating back to the contained water of the pool. His parents were another floor away, knocked out on two glasses of wine and antihistamines. They were done soothing nightmares when Steve got out of diapers. He had to raise himself.

Steve’s first attempt was track. It was consistent and required no brain power. It drained him and made any sleep stem from exhaustion and not choice. The Party could come to practice or meets and he could keep an eye on them– while also turning a blind eye to his own condition. He was still having nightmares, even in the daytime, and running helped. It wasn’t enough– not even the thought that Steve wasn’t running from anything this time– but it was a normalcy. It helped.

* * *

 

“Steve, baby, why are you up so early?” His mom stepped into the dim kitchen light still tying her robe. Steve was standing at the counter trying to figure out how to make oatmeal taste as good as Nancy’s. He was in his fifth morning of experimentation and it was the first anyone noticed.

“I’ve been up since seven.” Four, actually.

“Oh, baby, you should be getting more sleep. You look worn out.” She reached for the coffee maker first, then Steve’s face. Her thumb ran over his cheekbone, now easily spotted and traced.

“It’s just the running, Mom.” Steve shrugged. “I’m just losing weight in my face.”

“Are you sure?” She was asking only because it was law that parents weren’t supposed to accept their children’s lies, even if they didn’t care. “You can talk to me.” Steve couldn’t.

“Yeah. It’s just this new training. Haven’t gotten my diet quite right.” Steve waved out to the bowls of oatmeal and loose oats spilled onto the counter by unsteady hands. The oatmeal was Steve’s last hope; an ingestion of comfort. Nancy had made it for him one last time before school before everything fell back into shambles. He was still moving an oat out from between his teeth when he crumbled up his college essay. “I’ll get it, Mom. I’m fine.”

“Okay, Stevie, baby.” She accepted the lie with the confidence it had been the truth. “Have a good day at school. And tell those boys I said hello.”

“They aren’t all boys, Mom.” Steve felt the futile need to argue El and Max’s presence. She wasn’t parenting them, she didn’t need to ignore them. “And I have babysitting after track at Will’s house.”

“Okay.” She was reaching for a mug and clanged the ceramic to hush out Steve’s words.

Steve took his oatmeal and left. He ate his breakfast in the car and drove to Dustin’s neighborhood. He was early but had no issue waiting. Time escaped Steve normally, his vision coming in and out as the world grew black, his skin feeling a chill that escaped everyone else. In those moments, when Steve was drowning again, time ticked outside his grasp. He’d blink back, sweating and weeping, to a time he didn’t remember leaving.

Luckily, Dustin came knocking on Steve’s window just as his dashboard became invaded by thick, black vines. Dustin was always pleasant on the ride to school. He had every reason to be disgruntled; he was fourteen and was on his way to middle school at eight in the morning. He had better perspective than Steve. Claudia always made sure of that.

“You good, Steve?” Dustin asked after a while. Steve hadn’t really noticed the silence until he stopped listening to his own thoughts. “You look like shit.”

“I’m trying a new hair product.” Lying was easier on four hours of sleep. “First day makes your hair look… deflated. Then it gets the volume.”

“Alright…” Dustin was skeptical. “I’ll be tracking the progress. The hair is a trade secret.” He laughed and Steve coughed along. His laughter had become waterlogged from his late nights lying awake. There was nothing left in Steve Harrington to offer. It had been cried, vomited, and screamed out. There was no laughter.

Dustin was a good enough child and friend to leave Steve’s car without another question. He wished Steve a good day and hopped out of the car, rushing to the front door with promise at his heels. Steve drove the three miles to the high school and parked at the far end of the parking lot. The oatmeal bowl on the top of his dash had hardened by then. It all had.

He’d have to soak the bowl when he got home. His mother would be mad. He’d apologize but it would slip out insincere and distant. He’d go to his room. He’d lay down. He’d wish he had been swallowed up by split, petaled lips of a monster pacing Steve’s thoughts.

“Steve?” Nancy was at his window with Jonathan beside her and both looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Come on, the first bell rang.”

“You can’t skip history again.” Jonathan added. “I can’t keep catching you up on notes, Steve.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry.” Steve muttered. The door was still closed and Nancy and Jonathan were speaking loudly through the glass, but their message got through clearly. “I’m going. I’m going.”

“Hey!” She grabbed his arm. “Is everything okay, Steve? You look…” Nancy paused to choose her words delicately. “Unlike yourself.” It was nice of her to insinuate that, on a normal day, Steve looked well-rested and adjusted. Steve hadn’t felt that way long enough to forget how to fake it.

“New hair product.”

“That must be it.” Jonathan stood on the other side of Steve. They bracketed Steve’s vision with pointed looks at one another. Nancy tried to talk with only her eyes while Jonathan was trying to do the same with his hands.

“I know, it’s looking really bad recently.” Steve continued. “I promise, it’s fine.”

“We weren’t asking about your hair.” Nancy said, her tone toed a scold. “We were asking about you, Steve.”

“Same thing, isn’t it.” He muttered, reaching for the front doors.

“Steve…”

“Sorry, can’t be late again.” Steve said, walking off. “You’re off the hook for review, Byers. See you later.”

* * *

 

Steve didn’t remember gym class, which was entirely the point. Running around the track and playing point-less pickup games of basketball kept Steve separate from his own thoughts and just barely connected to his body. In gym, he was mostly motions. No one spoke to Steve in a way that required a response. He drifted from sideline to court. The gym remained a gym the entire hour; not a single vine tripped him playing. That was mostly himself or Billy on opposing defense.

After class, Steve was trying to wake himself up in the showers. The water was hot and felt thick against Steve’s numb skin. There were a few other students, some still discussing the game, others recounting the weekend. Steve scrubbed his face with his open hands.

“Shitty game, Harrington.” Billy said beside him. He had been across the showers, but had moved closer to Steve, if only to heckle.

“Thanks.” Steve said, trying to let the water prod harsh enough to force a smile. “I don’t really care.”

“I just thought King Steve would have more invested in his own reputation.” Billy laughed. “Guess you’re letting the kingdom run you out, huh?”

“Whatever, man.” Steve muttered. There was more on Steve’s mind than the popularity of his actions. They might have been running him out of his place of status, but Steve had spent more time genuinely running for his life. “Fuck off.”

Billy scoffed but the water beside Steve continued to run. Steve hadn’t opened his eyes and wanted to cherish the moment he had in the familiar and unchanging dark. It was simple nothingness, the water beating against Steve’s face and streaming down his chin and chest. The warmth stirred feelings of humanity, of intimacy and closeness. Of the rapid thump thump thump of Dustin’s heartbeat against Steve’s hand as he hoisted him off the squelching, trembling ground. The fear of being torn apart just below the surface of Hawkins and being smeared along a pumpkin patch as their own lasting impression–

Steve’s eyes shot open as the darkness began to root itself in his nightmares. To his horror, the pooling water had turned to blood. Thick, warm, human blood. The water on Steve’s hands, around his feet, running down his chest was a dark maroon. He clenched his eyes closed again, his breaths whistling between his teeth as he began panting. The water was too warm now, it was overheating him. The kill was recent, maybe able to save–

“No no. No. Come on. Don’t.” Steve muttered, opening his eyes and trying to force himself to see the regular yellow tile. The blood was now smearing the shower faucet and soap bar. “Oh god. No no.”

“Yeah, if I saw what you did when I looked down, I’d be upset too.” Billy chuckled, noticing Steve’s slow tremors but connecting minimal dots to even begin intervening. His face was covered blood too. Steve’s haunting memory started with a slow drip from Billy’s nose, where Steve had once landed a punch, and slowly spreading over his entire face. He grinned through it, Billy unable to see through Steve’s nightmarish lens.

“No no. It’s not real. Come on, Steve.” He muttered to himself. He said his own name, reminding his body that there was a person inside; the world his brain was living needed to match the one his body was stuck in. He wasn’t in the tunnels anymore. “There’s no blood.”

“Excuse me.” Billy said, still listening. “Harrington, what are you talking about?”

“Please, just please shut up.” Steve begged, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. The water stung and felt thick in his eyes. Steve tried to wipe his eyes but felt the water smear across his face like steaming, burning war paint. “Leave me the fuck alone. Now.”

“Fine.” The water beside him stopped and feet slapped against the wet floor hurriedly. “At least, like, have a fucking towel, man.” Billy yanked Steve by the shoulder and counteracted the gesture. In actuality though, a teenager nearly vomiting, completely naked in the school showers must have been completely embarrassing for everyone involved. Billy wasn’t only helping Steve, if that was the correct word.

Steve took the towel being shoved on him. He stepped out of the shower’s static-feeling rush of water and feebly wrapped the towel around his waist. Steve still had his eyes closed. Opening them meant either reentering his nightmare or being brought to the brink of embarrassment in the boys’ locker room.

Finally, he allowed his eyes to open– and he was still standing in the showers. Warm water streamed at Steve’s face and he was dripping head to toe in clear, lukewarm water. There were wide eyes, quiet muttering, and quiet snickering.

Steve had a fight and flight response to the gut feeling of danger. They thought it was amusing, but Steve was the one with the first-hand experience chasing monsters with a prayer for his life and a pair of fucking swimming goggles. Steve was the one who slept with a nailed baseball bat under his bed every night, but they assumed it was all crushed beer cans and used socks.

“That ashamed over a game?” Someone chuckled, spinning their towel up. “All you got when you don’t got college, right?” They released an end and snapped the towel. Steve had to act like the sound didn’t make him jump.

He was mortified and exhausted and wondering how many nights did he have to wait until he’d truly never wake up.

The locker room erupted into laughter, Steve included. It was just another motion. Truthfully, he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He genuinely knew it had the ability to do so and devour him, and every last choking breath.

Sometimes, Steve figured it’d be easy to die; just like life had been before.

**Author's Note:**

> [The Rebloggable Post!](https://argylemikewheeler.tumblr.com/post/174505054375/heyheyheyhey-steve-watching-the-stars-or-going)


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